


So Comes Snow After Fire (and even dragons have their endings)

by clandestineClairvoyant



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dragon Genji, Dragon Hanzo, Gen, M/M, Multi, a much rarer tag apparently
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-26 02:46:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7557079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clandestineClairvoyant/pseuds/clandestineClairvoyant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dragons are noble, elegant, and powerful allies to have. When they weren't written off as fiction.</p><p> </p><p>Dragons are also jealous, irrational, greedy creatures, McCree comes to find.</p><p> </p><p> Getting caught between two of them becomes more trouble than he'd have thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. “It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him.”  ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

####################################

 

 

Here’s what Jesse sees, that he’s not supposed to.

 

(In a long line of shit he wasn’t supposed to see, since he was fourteen and onwards.)

 

The team and him were in Dorado, escorting a museum piece that had the capability to level a whole seaside town with one clench of the wrong fist. Appropriately called, Doomfist.

Himself; Commander Morrison striding out front; Genji sticking to Jesse's side like a burr; Lucio; and Reinhardt, shuffling along behind like an oversize string toy. The streets were small, and although traffic was cleared to some degree for the escort, Reinhardt still found it hard to navigate around the colorful decorations, carts and people cluttering the road, remnants of a festival earlier in the day.

 

Jesse loved Dorado.

 

He spoke the language- _cuanto cuesta una cervaza por favor, gracias_ \- enjoyed the colors and smells, and loved the food. Lord almighty did he love the food.

Him and Lucio managed to slip Morrison’s sight long enough to flirt some _empanadilla’s_ from an old maid manning a battered looking stall, and the two of them streamed tears from the heat in their mouth the whole happy way back to the team.

They were chewed out by Morrison, but it was worth it for the burning in their throats and the flavor on the tongue that lasted the rest of the mission, cilantro and onion and soft meat that you hardly needed to chew. Genji had one as well, and then had two, when the spiciness managed to make it past the deadened taste buds behind his visor.

(Genji ate furtively, shy even now after they’d known each other for years, and Jesse politely looked away across the street as scarred and ragged skin came into sight, pulsing a sick green that he knew meant everything was running smooth and healthy in the cyborgs body.)

 

Later, when everything went to shit, it went fast.

 

The only interference they were expecting was from local _los muertos,_ the mere mention of their name drawing a rumble of anger from Commander Morrison.

 

What they got instead, was a sudden silence as the crowd thinned out, the payload making it’s way around a choke-point corner about two blocks from the museum; and then the loud unexpected _crack-boom_ of a sniper rifle.

 

Lucio went down not a foot from Jesse left elbow, and before his team mate had even hit the ground his limbs moved, rolling him down and to the left in time for a- _boom_ \- deep furrow to send shrapnel from the payloads chassis splintering across his cheek as the shot barely missed.

His momma didn’t raise a fool, and Jesse ducked behind an ornate archway leading to what looked like a garden, gun ready, and sharp eyes scanning the rooftops in the time it took for the rest of the team to scramble into position.

At the same time he found cover, Reinhardt raised his shield up, Soldier 76 hunkering to his side like a faithful hound and visor humming to life with a sinister orange glow. A gloved thumb went down onto his belt and dropped a biotic field over the three remaining Overwatch members, Genji having disappeared at the first shot like a spooked cat.

“Report.” Jesse's comm buzzed in his ear with Soldier: 76’s urgent bark, and he tapped his throat to activate the mic, barely whispering into it. Not that the sniper didn’t know exactly where he’d gone.

“All clear boss.” He dodged a look around the corner towards where they'd been heading, quick as a rattlesnake, and pressed himself to the wall again. No crack of fire. Good. That meant attention was divided now that they’d scattered. It wasn't their first time being sniped at, and lord help them, it was probably far from their last. “More coming your way. Looks like they were expecting us.” He informed Morrison, gun tapping nervously against his own shoulder. The brief movement of enemy combatants he'd seen moving across the road had been worrying. Tac suits and full weaponry.

“ _I am also clear of the sniper._ ” Came Genji’s voice, barely legible with all the digital distortion, combined with the sudden pitter patter of gun fire. The echo on the comms matched the alarmingly loud sound of it above their heads. “ _Engaging hostiles. I will clear the rooftops._ ”

Soldier; 76 grunted assent, a brief whine marking the charging of his helix rockets. “McCree, take care of that sniper. We’ll hold the package.” Another crack, as the shot tore from a slightly different vantage point, to ping off of the very edge of Reinhardt’s shield. Jesse caught a glimpse of muzzle flash, and a hint of a figure on a rooftop.

 

The only thing that was keeping them from being swamped by enemy hostiles was the flash of green Jesse could see scything across a roof, the occasional report of gunfire marking the ninja’s progress. It wouldn’t last forever.

 

“You got it.” Jesse crept off to the side, darting further to the left to circle around the block and come up behind the nest. He loped as easy and quiet as a jackal, Peacekeeper a heavy weight by his thigh and in his hand.

He only had a minute, perhaps, before the sniper moved location. Only an idiot would send more than two shots off in such a closed environment from the same location, he thought bitterly.

 

Of course, they were less likely to move if they had security.

 

Rounding the corner, Jesse drew short as he ran into the security point he should have expected, one turret and two guards, who raised their rifles at him as soon as he jangled into view.

 

“Well.” He spit the stub of his cigar off to the side, gun by his hip, and robotic hand coming up to flick the brim of his hat out of his line of sight. The Talon agents seemed temporarily frozen in surprise.

Luckily for them, he was as well. “Shit.”

 

He lifted his gun at the same time as he saw their fingers tightening on the triggers, slow motion; One, two, short sharp reports and the men were on the ground. But as his gun flicked the millimeter to the side to take the turret in his sights, he saw the barrel of it start to rotate-

 

_“Shit.”_ Less drawling, more emphatic.

 

Jesse dived out of the way yet again, as bullets ripped into the cobble he’d been standing, sending chunks of rock flying up after his heels.

 

He waited, counting to three from around the corner, and as the rotation of the barrel slowed to a stupid robotic halt, he rolled out, flinging a flashbang before it could roll to a start again, and sent three shots right down it’s barrel. 

 

The body of it clunked and didn’t quite explode, so much as implode and spark spectacularly.

The bodies had barely started to leak in the time the whole encounter took. He lit a match on his belt buckle, strolling over to kick one of the bodies onto it's back, double checking, although he knew he'd sent the shot right through the eye.

 

Jesse's mouth quirked in smug satisfaction around a new cigar, lit and glowing insolently in the dark alleyway, flipping it to the other side of his mouth as he reloaded the five shots he wasted on this choke point. When he was done, gun snapping closed with a musical snik, he continued towards where he’d marked the sniper.

If he was lucky, the noise didn’t alert them.

 

Justice wasn’t gonna dispense itself.

 

######################

 

Gunshots went off in the distance as Jesse prowled his way behind the run down hotel he thought the sniper to be on, splashing through oily puddles soggy with confetti, and around piles of refuse that stunk of post festival garbage day.

 

He holstered Peacekeeper long enough to get a grip on a drain pipe, scrambling up and wishing briefly that his boots didn’t jingle so much. Back in Blackwatch days, they’d done everything from hide in the backs of garbage trucks, to crawling through sewer pipes. Once they'd stayed in the wheel well of a Boeing 747 for three days, eating protein bars and freezing his balls off with Reyes oversized goddamn smelly boots crammed next to his face. If there was one thing he knew, it was how to worm his way somewhere he ain’t wanted.

 

He liked to think it was how he earned his spot in the new Overwatch.

 

The sniper was a woman, he noted, as he heaved himself as silently as possibly up onto the roof. Easy to tell from her outfit, as he crept around the gazebo topping the old-adobe style hotel, the woman's athletic shoulders turned away from him, intent on her targets. Long hair. Unsurprising. Most of the successful snipers Jesse knew were women; Something about that long distance killing instinct.

The sniper's rifle was set against the edge of the roof, legs relaxed under her in the easy comfortable posture of someone who had been there for a while. A falcons repose. There were bottles of water next to her, two of them emptied, as well as a small supply pack and a few empty wrappers. A professional. A desert predator waiting silently for a rat to poke it's head out of a hole.

 

She was familiar, as well. Jesse'd seen her on dossiers, and in brief security camera footage taken from a distance. Mostly shown by Winston before a mission, cautioning them to stay away. Widowmaker.

Instinctively remembering the second half of that briefing, he checked around for her creepy shadow, that masked assassin that put a hair up Commander Morrison’s ass and a sad little look on Lena's face.

 

No sign. Just a lack of night time noise, and the sound of gunfire echoing off of old stucco buildings.

 

Jesse carefully took his cigar out of his mouth, flicking it off to the side and crouching down on the eaves of the building he’d clambered up, stretched dangerously over a gap in the roofing. He could see the inside of the decrepit hotel down below, dusty and probably full of spiders and homeless.

The bass thumping of Lucio’s music down in the streets below told him he was back in the fight, the sound getting closer as the package crept slowly and inexorably towards the museum. It combined almost symphonically with the gun-rattle cough of Morrison’s pulse rifle, his new favorite toy since that damned visor, and Reinhardt’s deep booming laughter.

 

Widowmaker loaded with a well oiled _ch-clunk_ and waited, red lenses clicking slowly into place like a jewelers mask. She was hard to see in the dim reflection of streetlights, her skin strangely tinted, a tac suit that was a hair too tight outlining well maintained muscles, strong thighs and capable looking shoulders. No wonder, it was so large. Looked experimental. Lots of people raiding labs lately, Jesse thought idly as he waited for her attention to waver sufficiently towards his teammates. His palm sweated in his glove, and he was thankful that his robotic hand didn’t sweat against the guns grip.

Someone had to talk to those people about their security. Little Fareeha, perhaps.

 

The team got closer.

 

Jesse waited patiently. A wolf waiting for the falcon to land, jaws open and waiting.

 

Aaaaand…. _‘There.’_ Widowmakers face lowered to her scope, shoulders loosening and breath leaving her chest. One hand moved languidly up the stock, towards the trigger.

 

Jesse took aim with the heavy nose of his gun, heart jumping with a little thrill as it always did. As he lined the sights up, crinkling one weather wrinkled eye shut and gauging the wind that blew in from the coast wet and warm, he idly thought where Genji might be. Hadn’t heard him for a while. Probably dispatching turrets and clearing out the rooftops.

The ninja was what Reyes had always liked to call a mop- Cleaning up after others. Jesse had told Genji that once and he’d laughed, always tickled by turns of english phrasing that made silly kind of sense. Hair of the dog that bit you. Struck dumb. Meaner than a hornet. Welcome as a rattlesnake at a square dance.

(The fact that Jesse liked to make him laugh didn't escape him- For such a solemn little bot, he had a laugh like a jackal.)

 

Suddenly, the sniper dropped like a rock. Right out of his line of sight. Delayed and distant, the strange ffffff-tok of it hit Jesse's ears a split second after the realization why the sniper was rolling, continuing to move even with an arrow protruding from her back.

 

Impressed despite himself, Jesse hesitated. And paid for it.

 

Another arrow sprouted next to the second, two wings, and the sniper finally let out a short throaty bark of pain from between clenched teeth. Blood splattered the roof top, dark and inky in the dim light. She slithered to the side like a snake from a noose, and escaped the third and almost final arrow by rolling off of the ledge. It was so smooth it was like watching someone at the ballet. She just became where the arrows weren't.

Jesse took the wasted shot a second too late, as she swung from the hook she’d latched onto the roof edge, rifle dangling from her injured grip as if the strap was the only thing keeping it on. It blew through her hair harmlessly, kicking it out like a horses tail.

He took a second shot at the hook itself as she rappelled down wildly, swarming to the ground like a spider. This one hit. But she knew before he’d even taken aim, and released in time to roll elegantly to the ground, a trail of blood marking the path as she fled into a narrow gap between buildings. New jewelry and all. How the woman ran so goddamn fast in heels, Jesse had no idea. Maybe they were experimental too. He made a note, as he irritably watched her disappear, to mention the possibility to Morrison. See what he thought of some new gear for himself.

 

The red jewel eyes winked out of sight.

 

An arrow whistled and landed in Jesse's arm.

 

It knocked him back, metal splintering and the clunk-whine of the servos in his arm giving up sounding loud in his ear. Hydraulic pressure lost, and incredible pain washed through his whole side as his nervous system lit up.

Jesse lugged his arm physically after himself as he rolled clear under the eaves of the gazebo, panting like a wounded animal and ripping the arrow loose. Another one narrowly missed his boot as he drew it up under cover, and Jesse yelped in alarm.

“I need some back up!” He hollered into his com, before flicking it off to concentrate on the matter at hand. In the brief moment it was on, he'd mostly heard swearing, and Reinhardt's crazy laughing.

He took a moment to think, breathing loud and harsh and adrenaline thrumming through his neck and wrist. Familiar with the patterns most snipers took, he scrambled out of the way a beat later and down the side of the garden wall he was on top of, dodging an arrow as it stuck itself in the awning he’d been crouched under. Mobile sniper. ‘ _Sneaky bastard.’_

Buying a few moments of reprieve, Jesse scrambled towards where he knew the package was, moving steadily with Lucio, Commander, and Reinhardt holding fast- and Genji no doubt taking care of any extraneous opposition.

 

Jesse was familiar with both _Los Muertos,_ and Talon; And he didn’t know of any agent of either that used bows and arrows.

 

He took the time from running, crouched and weaving, to flip his comm back on once again. Concerned shouting met his ears, which he ignored. “Sniper on my tail! My arm’s out of commission, and this guy’s angrier than a hornet in a-” Another arrow whizzed by, and only a sudden jerk in motion as Jesse stumbled drunkenly against a wall saved him from getting another arrow, this time in the leg. “Shit!”

Jesse landed on the ground when the arrow exploded where it had landed, shrapnel flying and pinging off of the wall wildly in neon tracings of blue. Two of them caught his right leg, collapsing it under him with an explosion of pain.

 

He caught himself with his flesh and blood arm, preventing his face from meeting cold unforgiving stone, and turned onto his back in time to see the dark figure drop from the rooftop behind him, noiseless. Like the devil himself.

 

Jesse hadn't been the hunted in this kind of scenario since Reyes himself had dragged his sorry carcass out of Deadlock gorge. He found he didn't like the change in role.

 

Two glinting metal boots, a bow almost as long as he was tall. A neon blue glow on the quiver, some sort of targeting technology no doubt. It matched the sullen blue glint of his arrow, nocked and pointed right at Jesse, as the archer made his slow and methodical way down the alley.

 

“Alright fella, I don’t know who you are, but this is an Overwatch operation.” Jesse dragged himself back to his feet in no time, lamely bluffing his way of being probably _murdered_. The broken mechanics in his arm blared an angry beat through his shoulder and all along his spine. It throbbed like a live thing, sensors stupidly reminding him repeatedly that something was _wrong_ \- Perhaps the arrow head was still in there. He hadn’t had time to check.

The son of a bitch got him right in the meat of his arm, where the hydraulics Jesse'd need to lift it were. He couldn't even make a fist. He couldn’t tell if it was on purpose, or if the assassin had been trying to immobilize a real flesh and blood arm, and just got lucky.

 

“Overwatch.” He repeated, slowly backing away, as the man looked incredibly unimpressed. “That means I’m not alone, and-”

 

The archer made it into the light coming from a nearby street lamp.

 

A few things happened at once.

 

The archer’s formerly dark and inscrutable eyes flared like two gas lit flames as something moved above them, blue and hard and feral. His lips curled up from sharp white teeth, and there was a rumble that shook the cobbles at Jesse's feet like a crocodile on the river. Deep and numbing and subsonic.

He didn’t think it could possibly be coming from the man in front of him, but watery fear trickled down his spine anyway.

 

Jesse fired from his hydraulic-slick hip, almost deafeningly loud, where he’s reloaded Peacekeeper one handed.

He’d been able to shoot and load with one hand since he was 13. Ain’t no crazy son of a gun who thinks he’s a samurai gonna take him out with one measly arrow.

Two shots rang out.

 

There was a blue shimmer and flash, like the moon blinking across rippling water as the archer flowed towards Jesse, suddenly elongating, his mouth opening in a beastial snarl and eyes narrowing into reptilian slits.

 

And then there was a green flash, and another shape dropped from the rooftops like St. Elmo’s fire.

 

Genji’s visor was blaring like a wildfire, bright green and flickering off of the alley way walls like a natural disaster. Jesse'd never seen his lights so bright. He whirred an angry mechanical roar that left ears ringing, as his katana flitted forward to intercept the sharp claws that swept upwards from the attacker without even flinching, black and dangerous. As if he’d known he’d be intercepted.

They both looked very inhuman suddenly, and Jesse hysterically thought back to see if perhaps he’d hit his head. Or maybe he was hallucinating from drugs.

But no. They sounded like two wolves made from grinding glass, clashing in the worst sort of way. Metal on metal, and the shrieking sound of growls that emptied the owners chest of air as they ripped through the alleyway, and sent Jesse scrambling back to get his bearings. As well as some distance from the fight.

 _“なんだ ここ に?!”_ demanded Genji, with a mechanical snarl that sounded full of teeth. Too many teeth.

“I am choosing brother. Or did you not want me to choose so soon?” The man demanded, and an iridescent blue seemed to crawl down his arm at the words with a sickening pace, where the tattoo scrawled down across his clawed bow hand. It was like a fast stop motion pace of sickness spreading, blue scales erupting across skin and shoulders hunkering down in a suddenly territorial posture. “I’m choosing to rid the world of these mistakes. This… Talon. Deadlock. The dregs of society that call themselves order.” The creature that had been shooting a bow, Genji’s brother, spit off to the side.

“This is my _teammate_ brother.” Genji erupted into green, a corona of fury, and suddenly the two were at each other, wrestling, claws scratching and teeth grinding down against shoulder and necks as they squalled like overgrown cats.

The fight rolled from one corner of the alley to the next, the sound horrendous. Genji seemed to lose shape the longer Jesse looked, eyes blurring, until he looked the same as the brother he was fighting. Too long, too sharp. Smaller than his brother, but with poisonous green lines reminiscent of his armor running down a slate gray hide that seemed to suck the light in rather than reflect it, like the sleek blue lines he was tangled with.

Jesse didn’t even wonder where the rest of the team was as he scrambled out of the way, dragging himself up one handed to rest against the alley wall, aim wavering at the melee going on in front of him.

 

He was dumbfounded.

 

Genji Shimada, a man he’d known almost all his life, turning savage and inhuman in order to fight what looked like- A dragon. They were both god damned dragons. Big teeth and claws, scaly- _Dragons._

The blue, silvery dragon bared fangs in a terrible snarl as Genji’s own sickly green talons met it’s claws. The two twisted over sideways and landed on the ground in a tangle of tails and green white flame, scorching the cobble and igniting a pile of refuse that immediately began to choke the air with oily, rancid smoke.

Jesse steadied his arm against the wall, easing the trembling in his hand as he lined up his sights-

 

The two shapes separated, and he got a good look. Enough of a good look to trust he wasn't hallucinating.

 

Genji was scarred all over his body, mostly at the head and neck, terrible wounds and gouges that were the only shiny, silvery thing about him. Besides his glinting claws, like tiny swords clicking against the stone.  
He was slate grey and about twice as long as a horse would be, shoulder height from the ground with Jesse himself. Two antler like horns protruded back from an almost wolf like face, a mane of fur that was poison green trailing down his back like a banner, a reflecting shaggy bit under the cavernous jaws of teeth that opened and hissed at his brother. The tongue and saliva that dripped looked poisonous as well, almost luminescent. He looked wolfish and graceful, catlike in the elegant movement of his back and claws, sinuous like a snake. He moved like Genji moved. It was that, more than anything else, that convinced Jesse that this wasn't some sort of magical, changeling imposter.

 

The brother was bigger, but not by much. A regal silver blue with a sleek black mane, a larger ruff that looked as scarred as his brothers by this point, chunks torn out and singed by green fire that added to the sick smell in the air. His antlers were bigger as well, a smaller set seeming to start behind the first for a total of four horns, stretching almost onto the dragon’s neck.

They were black like obsidian, matte and unnaturally dark with what looked like tattered velvet that absorbed the light. His claws were chinks of cut out night, scraping and leaving gouges in the stone that made Jesse, in the split second of consideration, shudder to think of what they might do to human flesh.

He was a terrible looking creature, and that cavernous chest swelled as he opened wide jaws, filled with shining silver teeth-

 

And then Jesse shot Genji’s shape shifting asshole of a brother right in the ass.


	2. “Always speak politely to an enraged dragon.”  ― Steven Brust, Jhereg

######

 

Outside the medical bay, Jesse tested his arm against the door panel, making a face as the gears chewed against each other just the slightest bit in his shoulder. Like a new tooth filling, they’d wear down right eventually. In the motion most suited to drawing a gun, he hoped.

 

But that was for the gun range, later.

 

He activated the panel and went in.

 

“McCree.”

 

Genji looked the same as he remembered. Shining hinged armor, a dull olive kevlar stretching under that to preserve ease of movement. Green lights that looked almost completely dim in the bright lights of the Gibraltar base. He looked like a statue, if not for the way he couldn’t seem to stop moving, rocking his shoulders, pacing a few steps towards Jesse, before seeming to change his mind and pace back.

 

Not a trace of the dragon that wasn’t already there before.

 

“Genji.” Jesse tipped his hat in reply, uncertain of his welcome. It was moot point, since Genji went back to staring holes in the wall a moment later. Probably. Hard to tell.

 

If he was being honest, a little bit of his own nervousness was because of Genji himself. Someone he thought he’d known. Flashes of venom bright fangs as long as his hand, and slavering green spit ran across his mind, and he hid the sudden jerk of his hand by fumbling on his belt for a cigar, grumbling.

 

_“Agent McCree, need I remind you that Dr. Ziegler has banned all smoking in the medical facilities. No exceptions.”_ Athena’s cool voice emanated before Jesse’d even brought it out of his pocket, not even a click to signal the comm system activating.

“Alright, alright, I hear ya. Can’t a man just chew on it a little?” He sighed mournfully, staring at in his hand, before sticking it in his mouth to rest a bit until later. He was nervous, god damn it. He made a note to get some toothpicks or something, because in his older years he’s started to pick some distracting coping mechanisms. An oral fixation being the least of them.

 

“She’s right you know. Those things are going to kill you.” Winston pointed out, where he was seated next to Soldier: 76, a holo feed playing from his data pad. Morrison didn’t look like he was paying much attention, but who could tell these days. 

A good portion of the seating and doorways throughout the base were built on a larger scale- Overwatch drew a more varied range of fighter than most, and when you had members like Reinhardt and Winston, you learned to be forward thinking in your interior design. McCree had scoffed when he’d first seen it, but christ on a cracker did they have some big boys on their team.

 

Winston looked comfortable enough, feet clasped together as if in contemplation with plenty of room for his elbows.

 

Genji was tense, the only one standing in the impromptu gathering taking place in the Gibraltar medical bay, besides Jesse. It was all blue plastic chairs and vinyl cushions, with the sharp smell of potpourri to cover the smell of lemon scented cleaner, paper, and antiseptic.

Torjborn had commented that McCree looked a little pale while he’d patched up his arm not an hour before, wrist deep in the machinery of his shoulder and mustache bristling in scrutiny about six inches from his face.

Jesse had waved it off as being because he had two holes bigger than a pig’s gullet in his leg. ‘And a hand that don’t work,’ He’d added, pointedly. Torjborn had scowled, and continued working, rather rougher than he thought was necessary.

 

The Commander was there as well; for what he said was observation. But Jesse thought it was more to keep a subtle gun trained on the unknown entity in their midst, rather than any actual concern about the older Shimada. From what they’d been told he would be fine, despite Jesse’s own fine shooting, if he did say so himself.

The red glowing line of the man’s visor was expressionless. The only emotion he gave was the tapping of one red gloved finger on his elbow; Face, if not gaze, trained to the medical room door. Odd, the mystery, considering how well Jesse felt he could read the blank grey slate that was Genji’s face plate. Quite a while passed while his eyes darted from the commander, to Genji, trying to guess how much either one knew about what happened. Or how much he could mention.

“He thought you were a hired Talon mercenary.” Genji finally said, reluctantly into the pensive quiet. Winston’s holopad beeped like his finger had slipped in surprise. “He told me so much in the transport.” A surprise to Jesse, since from what he could tell, the man had said nothing to anyone, besides to swear rather sharply and colorfully in japanese at McCree when he’d snapped back into human form. Like a child’s visual illusion.

 

“He thought I was- What, _Reaper?_ ” There was a small part of Jesse that wasn’t sure if he was insulted or flattered.

 

“No! Do not be ridiculous. The last anyone in the public heard of your whereabouts, you were hijacking a train in the eastern United States.” Jesse flinches. “He probably drew the unlikely conclusion that you had fallen back into your old ways-”

“Fer chrissakes-” Jesse dragged a hand down his face, groaning. “ _I didn’t hijack that train._ ”

 

Genji sounded vaguely skeptical, a _tch_ behind his voice distortion that normally Jesse would chuckle at. Normally. “...That isn’t what the newsfeeds say. And then later, when the shootout happened in Nagasaki-”

“The news feeds say you’re a Japanese government experiment!” McCree pointed out accusingly, bursting out with noise that caused Soldier’s visor to temporarily turn toward him. Jesse wasn’t known known to raise his voice, even in the most extreme of situations. A sure sign he was rattled by this whole experience. “You’re going to believe everything they say?”

“We also haven’t made our team roster publically known. Not that many people knew about you in the old Overwatch, either. You were always so deep with Blackwatch.” Winston said, eyes not moving from his screen. McCree had the uncomfortable feeling that he was watching them all _through_ it however. It was scrolling backwards, in Japanese, soft pink of what looked like some kind of flowers and buildings barely visible from the backside where McCree was looking. It looked familiar. The screen switched, to some crime scene photos. Less familiar. (His hearing may be mostly shot, but his eyesight was still sharp as ever.)

What he _hoped_ were crime scene photos. Awful lot a blood for some casual reading.

Jesse made a snorting noise before Genji could reply to this, turning and stalking to the other end of the waiting room like a penned wolf, boots clomping loudly across the odd, static pattern of the carpet. It looked ripped from an office a century past.

 

He felt a headache building.

He wished he had a cigar.

He didn’t even know why he was here.

 

To tell Genji’s brother, _’Sorry I shot you, because I thought you were going to kill me, even though you **were** ; And sorry I apparently can’t recognize dragons actually trying to kill each other, versus just having a friendly brotherly scuffle?’_

 

That was definitely not going to happen.

 

Besides. No matter how Genji insisted he was never in any actual danger, McCree could still see the flash of anger in that blue dragons eyes, the way it’s jaws opened at the last moment before McCree opened fire, lips pulled back and a hoarse crocodile rumble echoing from deep in it’s chest.

 

That was the look of a killer. He knew it, and Genji’s brother knew it. Didn’t matter none that Genji didn’t seem to know it.

 

“He made a mistake. I have spoken with my brother before now, extending my invitation for him to join Overwatch. Or did you also miss him saving your lives?” Soldier: 76 made a noise, perhaps of disagreement, and Genji turned to him as well, bristling. His version, which involved an annoyed puff of steam from his right shoulder vent, a flare of green lights like a drift racing car. “I do not have to explain my motivations to _you_ now as well. Or are you to condemn him for fighting for justice without law, beyond the reach of the UN?”

“I don’t want you to explain yourself.” Rumbled Soldier: 76. 

Morrison didn’t look up from his careful study of the medical bay door, although most every eye in the room turned toward him. His visor was inscrutable, glowing against his chest where his chin dipped faintly in contemplation, one finger tapping against his crossed arms. Genji silenced himself, and between the two of them, Jesse wished he was just a bit better at reading body language. He felt like there was something going on here he wasn’t catching, causing Genji to back down. Fists clenched.

 

“I want _him_ to.”

 

“I will speak to him. I am as upset as anyone at my brother attacking McCree-san, but there are things here you do not understand.” Genji turned away, head dipping faintly. Jesse thought he was looking in his direction though, a prickle of awareness against the back of his neck. “None of you would.”

 

“I understand that this is the second time _I_ know of that he’s gone and tried to kill you-” Jesse growled, scratching irritably under his hat without looking at anyone else, as if overwhelmed by the situation. He hadn’t showered yet, and the sweat of battle was still dried in his hair and clothes. A familiar scent of fear and exhilaration that he just wanted to wash _off._

 

“He _was not_ going to-”

 

“- _And_ when he tries for a third time, you can find me down in the shooting range.” He finished, holding a mechanical finger up to silence the protest. Now he had Soldier: 76’s full attention. Silent. Contemplative.

 

Jesse turned on heel, lighting his cigar under Athena’s protests as he pushed through the waiting room door. Irritated at Genji, irritated at himself.

 

Irritated at that brother a his.

 

No one tried to stop him.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The loud thunderous boom of Peacekeep echoed off the walls, and McCree felt the pressure of his ear implants activating, softening the decibels to protect what remained of his gun-shot hearing.

Targets fell in front of him, one after the other, and even as he unloaded, the same frustration that had followed him from medical like a shadow took over his face, drawing a scowl and a faint tremor in his hands that threw his aim.

 

Jesse didn’t let things bother him.

 

He was the easy going cowboy. The one Lena went to when she wanted a slow easy evening sitting out and reading. Or when Winston wanted someone to bounce ideas off of with a patient, senseless nod that didn’t understand a lick of what came out of his mouth, but was sure it was a grand idea anyway.

Who Reyes had taught to play guitar, endlessly patient in the Blackwatch medical facility; even when recovering from neurosurgery and both his feet being broke, shiny new mechanical arm fumbling the strings and snapping the pegs. (He learned how to play _’La Bomba’_ , and Reyes said to the last that he never regretted any decision in his life more.)

 

He shrugged off insults, and laughed death in the face. Deadeye McCree ain’t scared of noone, and no _thing._

 

“ _83% hit rate.”_ Athena’s voice came in muffled, until his ears decompressed with gentle tugs against his ear canal. _“Shall I restart the simulation Agent McCree?_ ”

Edge shots. Two bullseyes. 

“Run it again sweetheart.” Jesse blew a plume of smoke, ashing his cigar in the bottle at his elbow, grimacing when he made the connection between his empty bottle, and the probable cause of his slowly decreasing accuracy score.

 

Damn it.

 

Four drinks. Four empty bottles, and the two remaining still faintly dewy in the reprocessed six-pack container, a friendly winking mermaid on the front drawing another scowl. Another pointed snap of Peacekeeper’s chamber as Jesse finished reloading.

He’d lost count of the ammo he’d used so far, but knew it was enough for the shells to knock against his boots as he took position, smoke wreathing his face and his sights lining up with the computer-bright targets at the end of the shooting lane.

Most of them were hilariously shaped like burglars, little balaclavas and comically over sized bags marked with a dollar sign. Winston had a weird sense of humor.

 

They started moving.

 

McCree sucked in hot smoke, dulling his senses down to a pinpoint, throat a distant burn as he held it in, the rest of the shooting range dimming.

 

Times like this, he swore time stood still.

 

A noiseless, quiet world, where his targets lined themselves up so slowly it was like they were moving through water. Sluggish. He imagined them as Talon. As _los muertes_. Any number of faceless terrorist he had shot through the back of the head in the line of duty, brains painting an unsuspecting picture on the inside of a bedroom or ballroom or any room at all that he could get himself into.

Jesse aimed leisurely, elbow loose and languid right up until he pulled the trigger, kickback locking his elbow as hard as steel.

 

The world came rushing back, and only the echoes of his shots met his ears, three of the targets pixelated heads blown apart into clouds of incomplete graphics.

Jessee picked the last three off, half heartedly, wishing briefly that he hadn’t been so short with Genji. His mood has suffered for it, and he trusted the man more than that. Enough to hear him out.

Enough to not tell the Commander what McCree had seen in that alleyway, beyond the fact that Genji’s mysterious older brother had shown up, confused him for a mercenary, and tried to kill him.

 

_“Agent McCree. Our guest is requesting access to your shooting lane.”_

Speak of the devil.

“Tell ‘im I’m busy.” McCree ashed his cigar out again, replacing it before reloading. Shells tinkled to the ground like ceramic. Or teeth.

There was a beat of silence while he restarted the program, chewing on his cigar, and feeling hollowed out, empty, at the man on the other side of the door. His anger had left him as soon as the target it was at had shown up, and now he didn’t want to talk at all. He didn’t want to live in a world where he had to explain _dragons_ to his commanding officer. Didn’t want to live in a place where he had to rub shoulders with the kind of monster who had done _that_ to his own kin. His own baby brother.

Most of all, he didn’t want to be on this range, four drinks in, thinking of how he was going to sneak past Genji’s ninja brother without either him getting all riled up again, or him saying something to result in an arrow through something a little more permanent.

 

_”Agent McCree. Our guest asks me to inform you that he wishes to apologize.”_

 

_That_ got his attention.

 

“Well.” Jesse let the program run, criminals running senselessly at the end of the shooting range, rampant. He stared through them, considering.

 

“Well.” He said again, scratching under the brim of his hat. His momma may _not_ have raised him, contrary to what his colloquialisms led folks to believe- But Reyes didn’t raise him to be a salty son of a gun who didn’t hear a man out.

(He may have taught him by non example.)

“Let him in.” Jesse let smoke drift up to the ceiling, telling himself, as he did every day, that this was the last one for tonight. No more cigars, cigarillos, or stale cigarettes fished out of an old tac vest. No more smoking out the window, furtively hoping Athena didn’t tattle to Mercy.

 

(He’d wake up for one in the middle of the night, like he always did.)

 

The door whooshed open behind him, and he very pointedly didn’t turn around, leaving his back bare and undefended, as he breathed deep-

 

And unloaded his clip.

 

The noise was loud, six shots, all hitting a target and blowing them to smithereens. His plugs released in time to hear a soft _tap tap tap_ , of some metal he wasn’t immediately familiar with crossing the steel floor of the range. No carpeting here, where folks combat boots would chew up whatever bit of warmth you’d care to throw down.

But Hanzo Shimada’s feet were just as unforgiving, McCree noticed, as he turned to take him in, now in the bright light and without the tremor of adrenaline.

 

Alright. A small amount of adrenaline.

 

Without a face to compare to, Jesse didn’t know if Hanzo and Genji looked anything alike. He thought perhaps in shape, maybe. The same length in the arms, or thickness of the neck. But beyond that he would never be able to tell. Genji was shy about photos from the past, if he had any at all. Maybe Mercy’d know.

Hanzo Shimada had broader shoulders than his brother, that was sure. Almost but not quite as broad as McCree himself- But McCree was a big man. He probably had almost half a foot on the fella, surprisingly small for how he filled a room. For how he wrapped himself in an air of danger that McCree could only manage on his deadliest of days, when he was at his most ornery, and at the end of his ropes for how to easy-go his way out it.

Genji was small as well.

A surprisingly feminine touch, Hanzo’s dark hair was knotted up from his bare neck with a yellow silk ribbon, dangling down against the collar of his blue shirt-thing. The sloping line of skin was ruined only by the deep gouges left by Genji’s teeth, stitched shut by Dr. Ziegler at the same time she no doubt healed away the six bullets that had torn into his back and right thigh.  
The bites been the only sign of what passed between the two... Dragons. Besides a decided limp that would likely be gone within the hour.

Mercy hadn’t asked him about them.

Hanzo’s feet were elegant things, and McCree felt almost shabby by comparison, with his scrap metal arm pieced together from various updates over the years. One year he’d had to replace _this_ panel, three later, all the left three fingers had to go, etc. He had the suspicion the legs were prosthetics, but couldn’t be sure. If they were, they were pieces of art. Carbon steel by the sound of them now that he was closer, and so graceful he could see the plates interlocking at every bend of the ankle, shift in footing.

 

“McCree-san.”

 

“Shimada-san.” Jesse let the shells fall, jingling to the ground.

 

There was silence, as he puffed quietly and slowly on his cigar, savoring the last of it as he reloaded Peacekeeper for the last time to put her away, squinting down the range.

“You are an excellent shot.” Hanzo observed, and it was the first Jesse’d heard his voice without that unfeeling anger in it.

“It’s why they keep me around.”

Hanzo entered his line of sight from the right, looking down the range with him, and with the ugly bites out of view McCree found his eyes drawn down to the beginnings of his tattoo, the bare arm with only white lines of bullet scars and knife wounds ruining the pristine edges of ink.

He wondered if it hurt to get.

 

“I trust your AI told you why I was here.”

Jesse jerked his eyes up from bare skin, coughing gruffly around his cigar. “Yeah. She might’ve.”

Hanzo turned his eyes from the digital bandits, cartoon x’s projected out of their eyes and tongues protruding, and for a minute McCree thought he saw a flash of silver.

But no, Hanzo just turned his gaze down, looking at Peacekeeper as if unable to leave his eyes anywhere else.

“My brother trusts you. You have know each other for a time.”

Jesse grunted in agreement, sick of shooting for now. “With all these new folks around that weren’t back in the day, I expect he was looking for a familiar face.” He knew _he_ had been. Morrison might as well have been a different man, and Tracer and Winston were busy. Figure heading for the small folk and what not. An incident at a museum.

Him and Genji’d shared safe houses, played poker. Three years passing each other in the halls, and one instance of the jumpstart little shit breaking his arm in a game of dodgeball, before the two had left separately, for much of the same reasons. He supposed it was reason enough to be familiar, to like the man. Shoot a dragon for him, at the least.

“You understand how my brother and I are different from most?” Hanzo started, hesitantly, when Jesse didn’t offer any more detail than that.

 

“You tryin to be delicate and ask if I figured out yer little... Condition?” He didn’t remove his eyes this time, unmoving in the face of the sudden flinch of irritation. “Yep. Not exactly hard, considering you almost took a chunk outta me.”

A silver flash and a rumble of annoyance. Hanzo’s lip curled up. “And you would do to _remember_ it.”

Sudden sharpness in his voice, a hint of teeth. Jesse didn’t even flinch, simply chewing his cigar thoughtfully and staring until Hanzo seemed to deflate, turning his gaze yet again, fist clenching against his thigh. A man ashamed.

“Apologies. Again. The reason I wished to speak to you before anyone else is to explain myself fully. I’m just… Unsure how to begin.”

 

And Jesse realized that this hard eyed, falcon of a man was at one of his weakest moments, right now, in front of him. Trying to decide what McCree was going to do, with this secret in his hands.

 

It was strangely exhilarating. And it went a long way to soothing ruffled feathers. Jesse was tired, he still hadn’t showered, and he was four drinks in without a lick of dinner in him.

 

“I’m not going to say from the start, because that’d be downright ridiculous. An I reckon I don’t need to know the whole story quite yet.” Jesse stubbed his cigar out, stretching his neck to the side with a satisfied pop before holstering Peacekeeper.

Ambling over to the ammo chests against the east wall, below the viewing window, he scooped the remaining two beers on his way with one mechanical finger, taking one out of it’s bioplastic ring and flicking it open with his thumb.

“You drink?”

Silence, as McCree turned and sank down, knees creaking, and rested his back against the unforgiving wall. Then the _tap tap_ of feet following him.

“On occasion.”

 

“Alrighty then.” He cracked the other open with the same thumb, holding the beer out. It was slightly warm, but Hanzo took it nonetheless, polite as you please.

 

“Why don’t you tell me about dragons then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #####
> 
> This gave me a lot of trouble. I wanted to post a new chapter a few days after the first, but it looks like this is going to be a once a week thing. I know I'm not the best writer, but dialogue in particular always seems to give me trouble. Not to mention I always feel like my idea of characters is always one beat off of other people's? Ah well, tell me what you guys think! All your comments and kudos really make it worth it! And I can use all the help I can get haha. I go back and fiddle with these things a lot, a very bad habit. Because I can never just finish something and BE HAPPY with it. Maybe someday.
> 
>  
> 
> We'll be getting to jealous!genji and intrigued!hanzo hopefully next chapter. And increasing confused cowboy noises.
> 
>  
> 
> Now, this may look abandoned after next friday's update, but it's not! I'll be in basic training for eight weeks, and then hopefully I'll have time to throw a few chapters out a week or two after that. Big changes ahead for me, and I hope everyone understands!
> 
> I love this fic idea and I'm not dropping it, and have some other ideas in the works. Plenty of time while I'm doing pushups to think about it. :')
> 
> (Another reason this fic was late is the update of Hang the Fool had me WEAK AND CRYING ty almaduele OTL)


	3. “ 'Have I ever told you how glad I am we're not enemies?' Eragon asked. 'No, but it's very sweet of you.' ”  ― Christopher Paolini, Brisingr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god this gave me so much more trouble than anything. Oddly enough, dialogue gives me SO MUCH TROUBLE in general.  
> Tell me what you think! I love all the comments and kudos I get! If I don't answer, it's only because I'm busy packing and getting ready to leave. But you all are so nice it makes me want to cry. And also try harder to get better. :')
> 
> Once again, after this week I'll be on an 8-9 week hiatus for basic training. If you have some thoughts or critique, I'd love to hear it when I get back!
> 
> I'll be thinking of fic the whole time I'm gone so get ready.
> 
> EDIT: Came back, and rewrote this because I honestly couldn't stand it anymore. :') If you want to read the old version, I'll put it up HERE ( http://clandestineclairvoyant.tumblr.com/post/155508649992/ch-4-overwatch-dragonfill )

*****************

“Our family has always borne the dragon.” Hanzo started, right then and there in the peaceful place that makes itself some time at night, when no one else was awake.

Jesse’s eyes were itchy with it, and his knee shaking with some sort of pent up energy that seemed to be endless even when his fingers trembled with fatigue.

“It is something of a common tale, among the area we lived in. People would leave gifts at the shrine, come to speak to my father, ask favors of the Shimada’s beyond that of a mere loan, or protection. They asked for the divine. Health, riches, good luck in the new year.”

He seemed far away, thinking about it, and Jesse had seen pictures of Hanamura. The shrine, tall and monolithic in its simplistic beauty, all sharp edges and blood red roofs underneath the crisp white snow. Tall trees that towered with age, tended carefully to twist in graceful arches over elegant bridges and water features.

He could imagine worshipping in a place like that, where time didn’t touch.

They sat in silence for a long while while they pulled at their drinks, and listened to the hum of the air conditioning work to cool. He couldn’t think of anything else he might like to know, anything else that might be shared from the suddenly silent man, who didn’t seem to give off any heat where his shoulder brushed against Jesse’s own as delicate as a cat’s tail brushing under the palm of a hand.

“Mercy know?” He asked, finishing his own beer, and vision barely swimming. Athena had tattled on him one too many times for Jesse McCree to get any kind of smashed on base, but there was still a thread of warmth running through his guts that eyed Hanzo’s bare arm, the elegantly strong muscles of his wrist and the stiff almost fur-like quality of his hair that was as untameable and shaggy as Jesse’s own. Although he made a much better attempt at taming it into its short tail.

His eyes moved from there to the corner of his eyes, storm grey with long lashes that were hooded with concentration.

Sitting next to him felt like sitting next to a firecracker though. Dangerous.  
Jesse never felt this way with Genji, despite having first hand account to how deadly the cyborg could be. He’d seen the man reave through frontlines like they were tissue paper, severing limbs from bodies, green lights a blur and sword making sick noises like a butcher shop.

But he’d also seen him curled up on the common room couch like a house cat, running lights dimmed and Liao from Delta squad slowly building a castle of remote controls, car keys, playing cards, and water bottles on the flat edge of his visor.

Hard to be scared of something 5 foot 5, that was docile as all that.

 

But something about Hanzo raised the hair on the back of Jesse’s neck, shivered his bones and told him this was a predator. To be _wary._

“She’s aware. She reconstructed my brother, and there are things about us I’m sure are not usual in her line of work. Eyes, teeth, the such. Whether she knows the full extent...” Hanzo trailed off meaningfully, and for a moment, Jesse thought he was going to elaborate.  
But before he could there was a sudden clatter, and a door set flush in the wall swooped up with a whirr, releasing an irate looking cleaning bot.

It startled him enough that he almost dropped his bottle, fumbling his grip and drawing a smirk from Hanzo that he took with good grace. Fair enough.

“I reckon we’ve outstayed our welcome.” McCree observed drily, as the little bot started sweeping up the debris Jesse had left in his shooting lane. If he wasn’t crazy, it was beeping to itself softly, a robotic grumbling that grew in pitch the closer it got to his mud-caked boot.

“So it seems.” Hanzo got up, and in his absence Jesse’s arm suddenly felt cooler, despite the fact that Hanzo seemed to run a few degrees cooler. He covered it by tugging the warm wool of his serape over it, breathing out in a weary sigh. “I hope we will be able to work together. After all of this.” The line of his back was tense, fingers clenching and unclenching like a cat pawing nervously, and Jesse found it slightly endearing. These creatures had so much in common with the common housecat, despite all the extra claws and scales.

“I hope so as well.” Jesse answered cagily, getting up himself with a creak and a groan. He leaned down and set his empty bottle on the back of the short, fat robot, drawing an enraged series of whistle and beeps that he readily ignored.

Hanzo looked like he wanted to say something else, but in the presence of McCree’s steady, unblinking gaze, he seemed to struggle, before giving a short nod, and walking away. The door opened silently, and within moments, the dark hallway outside swallowed him and he was gone.

Hanzo seemed like a proud man. Draconic. Regal. He was distant in the same way Genji was occasionally, that he’d never thought to notice until this new information had come to light. Jesse couldn’t imagine the amount of crow Hanzo had to eat to come down here and give his pseudo apology slash explanation; and he still wasn’t even sure he was getting the whole story.

Jesse watched the bot tidy up for a few moments, thinking, before sighing and thumbing the shooting range off. The lights winked off one by one, and he slowly made his way out into the hall, up the cold dark cliffs and bridges of Gibraltar through to the barracks.

It was lonely, this late at night; just the gentle green glow of the emergency lighting towards the base of the floor to keep him company, and it had Jesse wondering why everything seemed to be reminding him of Genji. The lights. His brother. Every cough of air through the vents and flicker of wings from night-time birds on the edge of the property,

His room was dim when he got there, familiar. Gun cabinet, armor rack, cot piled high with thick woven blankets and downy soft flannel, and empty bottles lined up neat as you please in the window sill casting fractured moonlight across the floor. It smelled like old laundry, damp tobacco, and gun oil. Lena also said it smelled like wet dog, but Jesse McCree had never had a pet in his life and didn’t understand what she could possibly be smelling. So he didn’t use shampoo? Neither did half of the team.

He had time to toe his boots off and remove his chest plate, but beyond that, McCree was exhausted. A session at the shooting range well spent. If it took exhausting himself to get even the minimum hours of sleep, so be it. He’d done his time of sleeplessness in Blackwatch, but he was an old man now. He deserved his six hours.

Jesse didn’t dream of anything, but as he drifted off, he found his thoughts wandering towards sleek flashes of green and blue, back lit by passing cars and a knife slash of street lights.

 

##############

 

The next morning Jesse was woken by Athena’s smooth voice, combined with a knocking at the door.

 _”Agent McCree.”_ God damn that AI; and god damn whoever installed her in every room and doorbell instead of an old fashioned knocker. _“Agent Shimada is requesting entry.”_

He groaned, rolling over and yanking the soft flannel blanket over his head. Gibraltar was cold with so much metal and concrete, and the warmth that had pooled under the blankets wasn’t something to be abandoned lightly. Especially with the join of his mechanical arm sucking the heat from his shoulder and chest in a way that he knew was going to make it difficult to raise it above his chest later, stiff and unwieldy with cold.

Another knock came at the door, and he finally gave in.

“Alright, _alright.”_ Jesse rolled over, shoving his thick wool socks into his boots and shuffling across to the door. Weak midmorning sunlight came in through his window, tinged pink, and McCree blearily found himself wondering what time it was.

“Jesse.” Genji greeted in bright surprise when he finally opened the door with a few missed presses of the button.

“Mmm. Mornin’.” He rubbed his eyes, mouth and tongue fuzzy, and gestured languidly for Genji to go ahead and come in while he shuffled his way over to the bathroom to give himself a quick birdbath. Make him fit for cyborg company.

There was no sound of anyone following him, but Jesse knew without looking that that didn’t mean much. Genji was a quiet man. Dragon.

Shoving his serape off of his shoulders and wrinkling his nose at the smell of dried sweat and stale smoke, McCree gave it a shakebefore tossing it on the end of his bedpost and following it with his button up linen shirt. (A luxury in the 2060’s, but one he allowed himself. Along with hand rolled cigars and a pocket sized bottle of tabasco sauce. Lena’s teasing be damned.)

“What’re you doin’ here so bright and early then? Get lost on your way to getting me a cup of coffee?” McCree asked from the tiny bathroom, splashing water across his face and neck, running careful fingers through his beard and along his hairline. It felt good to scrub the effort of the night before away, and he made a note to take a nice long soak in the PT hot tub today. Might help his stiff muscles and throbbing shoulder.

The noise Genji made in reply was oddly stilted, a quiet “Hm.”

Jesse shut the water off, reaching blindly and finding a towel balled up on the counter, rubbing his face dry before wrinkling his nose. Ah. Wet dog smell.

A sound of inhalation, a stirring of air against the back of Jesse’s damp neck that moved the curls of hair there that spooked him like a goosed cat. “You were speaking with my brother last night.”

The voice was close. McCree turned in surprise, edging back when the glow of Genji’s visor was nearer than he’d expected it to be. He’d crept up as quiet as a daydream, considering, head tilted slightly in that predatory way Jesse’d seen him look at Talon agents across a rooftop. Or at the tv screen, when he was on a particularly hard level against D.Va and Lucio.

“Uh.” McCree stared back at his own reflection, lost briefly, and sleep addled still. He hadn’t had coffee yet, let alone a smoke.

The visor slid up, and McCree caught a glimpse of a rough scarred mouth, and sharp white teeth as Genji’s nostrils flared, tongue flickering out to taste; and he suddenly wasn’t sure what was happening at all. His head was still fuzzy, eyes fogged from the water, and the light from the windows didn’t reach in the bathroom when he hadn’t turned the light on. Only the wash of Genji’s neon lights, glinting off of porcelain and chrome.

“Er. Yeah? We talked.”

For a moment Genji didn’t answer, and McCree wondered if he’d have to touch him. Reach out and gently push him away with his mechanical hand from where Genji seemed to be frozen, visor up and eyes hidden where McCree couldn’t see. But he _could_ see his mouth, parted and red; and the way he tilted forward as if on strings, the same strange rumble he’d heard in that alleyway echoing quietly enough it was almost as if it was in McCree’s imagination.

Except this time it was Genji making a sound he’d never heard, before. Outside of crocodiles.

“Genji?” McCree touched his arm finally, a tad fearfully, and Genji jerked back as if he’d been shocked, looking up at McCree and flicking his visor back down faster than Jesse could blink. And blink he did.

“My apologies. I am… Not feeling well.” An understatement, McCree thought with raised eyebrows and a pounding heart. “I came to tell you Winston has made breakfast, and if you would like some, to hurry.” Genji backed up in such a hurry his elbow clipped the doorway, and Jesse was completely flummoxed.

He’d never seen Genji run into anything.

“You sure you’re okay? Don’t want to head down and give the doc a call?” McCree ventured, reaching out to rest his arm against the doorway where Genji was lingering, unreadable and tense.

“No. I am fine.”

Genji seemed ornerier than a hornet, and McCree let it lie, watching the cyborg stalk down that hall as if prowling, something in the set of his shoulders and the careful clip of his footsteps reminding him of that sleek, gunmetal grey predator.


	4. “Dragon intelligence was a mystery to men who made a study of the subject; he had no idea how much the dragon would hear or understand, but thought it better to avoid the risk of giving offense.”  ― Naomi Novik, His Majesty's Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I've been in Tech school since October, and it's been VERY BUSY. VERY VERY BUSY. But I managed to get this out after rewriting it no less than five times. If anyone's curious, I edited the last chapter heavily, and if you want to read the old version which I didn't much care for, the link is there.
> 
> Getting there! I don't know why I can't just get to the good part. I make them talk so much, and I'm so bad at writing dialogue. Again, nothing's beta'd, and if you see anything wrong say something!

#####################

 

 

“Alright, but what I’m _saying_ is he can’t avoid everyone forever. It ain’t _healthy._ ”

Jesse was referring to Hanzo.

He’d just made contact with his brother, stayed long enough to perturb McCree with his long unblinking stares, and unusually agile way of stalking the hallways silently; And then as soon as Morrison had started making noise to Winston about possibly running a _background check_ of some sort to see what exactly the elder Shimada had been up to these past years, he’d disappeared.

Genji had simply made a noncommittal comment about keeping in touch, and proceeded to not mention it again.

 

Didn’t mean that Jesse was going to let it go of course.

 

“He has been this way since we were children. Give him time to acclimate.” Genji informed Jesse serenely, as they slowly meandered their way through the Illios market. He reached a gloved hand out to pick up a box of tea, humming mechanically in thought and turning it over in his hands. Jesse frowned at the sudden stop, almost running into him.

It wasn’t the first time the two had gone on a shopping trip together- When Jesse was younger, it’d been hard to find someone close enough to his own age that would be willing to adventure from base with him, without tattling to Reyes or Morrison. The strange foreign project of Mercy’s that haunted the med bay had been a safe bet, and they’d had fun at any number of outposts. Climbing to the top of the Watchtower and getting hammered on cheap booze; daring each other to jump off cliffs into the sunlit water below; or exploring every food joint between here and Barcelona.

This was however, the first one since he found out his companion wasn’t human. It changed things slightly.

Jesse grumbled irritably, blowing smoke off to the side, ignoring the dirty look one of the salesmen gave him as it drifted over his ornate rugs and seashell patterned driftwood furniture. He wasn’t so sure about Genji’s assessment of Hanzo’s reticence, but figured he’d tackle the topic further when they weren’t so busy.

 

It was a beautiful market day. The ocean breeze sung through lines and cables all taut with the weight of colorful stalls and wooden awnings, patterns and dapples of light all casting the tunnel of wares and vendors into a multi-colored kaleidoscope of delicious smells and the gentle hum of conversation. Jesse was a big man, and in normal circumstances the press of so many shoulders brushing his own would set him on edge, but with the smell of the ocean and the sun warming the air into a sleepy hum, it was hard to be high strung. He crushed loam and grass underboot where the white stone walkways didn’t cover, and let his nose guide his gaze in interest over to a tea stall sharing counter space with a _gyro_ and flatbread vendor, roasting a whole hunk of shaved lamb over a low glowing coal brazier. Juice dripped down and sizzled into the glowing embers, effusing the air with a spicy smoke that stung the eyes and drew the nose.

Genji walked through the crowd effortlessly ahead of him, and even now, weeks after Dorado, Jesse wondered how he ever mistook Genji for anything but a predator; the way the crowd parted around him without even noticing, the trembling barely there air of amiable danger that kept strangers away. People gave him odd looks, but no one ever bothered him.

Genji was dressed in a hoodie and the exercise gear that he normally wore when he bothered to strip off the part of his shell that was his outer armor, a nike swoosh on the bottom hem of the pants and the most ridiculous pair of sneakers Jesse had ever seen on his feet. He strongly suspected that they were Lucio’s, judging by how roomy they were to make room for their teammates prosthetics, and the hoodie was definitely Hana’s. It had a small bunny embossed on the chest, and smelled faintly of vanilla body spray.

It looked sweet on him, he couldn’t help but think, and hid the thought with another rough drag of cigarette.

“You know we’re here getting supplies, right? Our delivery is over by the docks.” Jesse observed, and Genji simply tilted his face up towards him, a familiar gesture that Jesse recognized as him smiling. It was easier to see with the crinkles of his eyes visible over a scarf, scars mottling through his eyebrows, one eye the same poisonous green as his visor and bisected by a particularly nasty scar.

Jesse had always wondered what could have caused injuries like that- A blade isn’t meant to maim like that, and no sort of modern weapon kills that slowly.

Not only that, but he’d also always wondered how anyone could have survived, or why the _miracle_ that is Shimada Genji backflipping off of a fifty foot archway to pin a talon mercenary like a bloody butterfly on a board was never repeated by Overwatches medical wing. Surely there were other people with just as severe injuries, deserving of the second chance Angela had gifted to the son of the yakuza.

Now he suspected it probably wouldn’t have worked on anyone else. A normal human would simply have died.

“I promised to pick up some tea for Lena. She’s almost out.” Genji put the box back and inspected some tins, ignoring the hovering stall keeper who looked unwilling to interrupt what he might possibly have thought was some sort of terminal patient from a hospital, being escorted by a cowboy. An armed cowboy.

“Hell. I’m sure if she shook out the cabinets hard enough something'd tumble out. The whole damn base if crazy about that leaf water.” Even Winston brewed a pot every now and then.

“She’s looking for something a little more western. Says everything we have is too bitter. No accounting for taste.” Genji sniffed, finally dropping a few bills and collecting two tins of tea from the nervous tea merchant. One was a sleepy-looking lavender with silver trim, and Jesse had to bring it almost all the way to his smoke-deadened nose to smell the faint hint of lavender and ginger.

The other one Genji carried himself, tucking into the roomy pockets of the hoody. Jesse caught a glimpse of green and pale yellow, but then he was distracted by Genji leading the way out of the stalls, towards the dock where their usual delivery was.

“Come along Jesse-san. We have drills at 1600, and you know how I love the exercise.”

Jesse grimaced and followed, ashing his cigarette on the white stone. “Alright pardner, but if you think you’re going to pin me by my sleeves again, you got another thing coming.

*****

The walk back was long, and gave them plenty of time to talk. Which they didn’t, amiably enjoying the sound of McCree’s aimless whistling, and the soft sound of their shoes sucking into the mud from the recent spell of rain they’d been having.

Every now and then Genji would wander to the side of the path to investigate an interesting bush or flower, and Jesse would stop to enjoy his smoke while he did so, letting it drift away across the windswept countryside that overlooked the Illios bay. Everyone from old grannies to 15 year old boys smoked here, and the tobacco was good if you were willing to treat yourself.

Sailboats skimmed along in the distance, their sails winking cheerily with solar cells and their hulls featureless and pod-like, barring the small captain and wheel on top. Seagulls cried overhead, and a heavy bell clinked in the distance that made him think someone might be looking for a misplaced goat some time soon. It was a beautiful day, and Jesse was almost sorry to see the base come into sight. Still. He was looking forward to lunch later, after smelling all the food in town.

 

“Didja get it?” Tracer’s voice drifted over as soon as they made it inside, and Genji gave her a _tsk_ ing sound of reproval.

Jesse tossed his tin over towards Lena, a streak of blue and a doppler effect of a _”Yes!”_ , that snatched it out of the air and disappeared into the kitchen.

“You’re welcome!” Genji called irritably, stripping his outer layers of clothes in the entryway of the base.

_”Agents McCree, Shimada. Welcome back.”_ Coming home to Athena was like coming home to a mother, Jesse thought sometimes. He could just hear in her voice that she was doing the computer equivalent of eyeing the mud on their boots. _“Commander Morrison requests your presence in training room Echo-2.”_ Athena informed them cooly, and Jesse blew an exasperated raspberry.

“Well. Meet you there?” He asked, hanging his serape up by the door, and tapping his boots free of the thick mud that made up the easy slope that led to the base. A bot would be in shortly to collect it, beeping irritably and reminding McCree to feel guilty.

“Mm.” Genji nodded, looking distracted as he drew his scarf away from his face in the dim light. His scars scrunched as his nose flared, and Jesse realized uncomfortably that he was smelling something. “Yes. I just have to check on something.” He tilted his head thoughtfully, staring off towards the stairwell. A slow motion at his side drew Jesse’s gaze downward, and he saw Genji’s hand clenching in an uncomfortably similar parody to Hanzo’s the night before. “Tell Commander Morrison I will be there shortly.”

“Uh. Alright.” Jesse agreed easily, giving him one last look, before heading to the room where the bulk of their combat training took place. “See you then.”

 

The range was one thing. The combat room, now that was a whole other animal.

 

Jesse sighed and prepared himself for an evening full of icing bruises.

 

#############

 

“What the fuck.”

Jesse was sweaty, grimy, and soaking wet from Combat Room Echo’s state-of-the-art water feature. Trust the armed forces to replace all of their former obstacle courses with blue plastic-gravel pits, only for Overwatch to step up their obstacle game and make theirs bigger and colder than before. He’d gone back to his room with the full intent of a hot shower and a long smoke before trying to drink himself into four to five hours of sleep, darkly hoping Jack was at least a fraction as sore as he was after throwing each other around the sim room for two hours.

But before he could, there was a pile of dead rabbits at the door of his room that he apparently had to take care of.

Jesse stood there with his room fob in his mechanical hand, blinking stupidly at the pile of rabbits. There were three or four of them, the thin brown hares that inhabited the surrounding cliffs and countryside with the sort of tenacity that kept small creatures alive in a windswept, hawk infested terrain. They were fast, and smart. Jesse only saw them at a distance, or as furry remains of somethings lunch while rambling the cliffs.

“Well.” He remained unable to figure out what to do, so he leaned down and picked one up by the legs like he used to back in the day, nose wrinkling and sniffing curiously. It smelled fresh, not even stiff. No visible wounds, but he could tell by the loose feeling in the neck they’d had their spines snapped. He’d eaten his share of rabbit, and he could tell this was a good catch.

This was either some kind of obscure threat, or- Well. Honest to god, he didn’t know what else it could be.

“Athena?”

_”Yes Agent McCree?”_

“I trust I don’t gotta ask my silly question here. I sure hope you got some kinda answer though.” Jesse went into his room, stepping carefully over his surprise with a rabbit still dangling in his grip, and rummaging around until he found a spare belt. Once he had it in hand, he stepped around the miscellaneous clothes, equipment, worn old magazines and books with broken spines to get back to the door. Gathering up the rabbits in a bundle wasn’t much of a problem. Getting them down the hall and to the kitchen without anyone asking him odd questions however, was another story.

_“Shimada Hanzo left them after interfering with my security system-.”_ Jesse looked up incredulously, a habit he had even after being informed by Reyes repeatedly in his teens that even if Athena had a server, he wasn’t looking anywhere near it, and she sure as hell wasn’t somewhere in the ceiling. _”Agent Shimada reset my security system when I alerted him and is currently handling the problem himself. Last reading was at the observatory.”_

A cleaning bot followed him doggedly all the way to the kitchen, and Jesse had to nudge it gently out of the way with a boot in order to put the rabbits in the fridge, under the rest of the food, carefully scooting Mei’s mineral smoothies and Winston’s candy bars out of the way. He ignored the incessant beeping as the thing brushed at his boots for lack of anything gory to clean, polishing the leather, and Jesse chewed on his cigar thoughtfully and a mite irritably as he shut the fridge door.

 

He supposed a trip to the observatory was in order.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally finished this two minutes ago, and am throwing it out because I can't get rid of it, and I've been pecking at it for way too long. Again, thank you for all your patience! I have a lot of changes going on, and am focused mostly on schooling. Sorry in advance if Hanzo seems like a humongous asshole in this, but I'm trying to portray dragons as inhumanly as I can and it seems to be a side effect. (Also Hanzo is just a humongous asshole.)  
>  I'm not sure if I need to give Hanzo more nice scenes, or Genji more asshole scenes.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“- cannot just be coming and going as you _like._ ”

Genji’s voice was irate, a faint inhuman edge to his words that Jesse _used_ to be able to attribute to mechanical vocal chords. Now, with Hanzo there and the same rumble in his chest, the same hint of teeth, Jesse knew the reason for the shivers it sent down his spine were far from scientific.

There was a faint sneer to Hanzo’s voice, and Jesse was sure that it was only their distraction with each other that had them unknowing to his casual presence up on the stairs above.

The walkway that arched over the taxiway for Overwatch’s old observational spacecraft led to a launchpad further along the facility- it was originally made for maintenance. Fortunately for the workaholic security crew, it also made an excellent smoking spot.

_Un_ fortunately, Jesse suspected if he lit a cigar, even the strong wind and the heady scent of flowers blooming in the tall grasses might not be able to cover his presence to the dragons sensitive noses. He settled for chewing on it, a bad habit that ruined more cigars than he actually smoked, if he wasn’t out in the field or out and about in the area around the base. Mercy had eyes everywhere, and her eternal vendetta to get Jesse to quit was a constant thorn in his side.

“You tell me to come, and now you tell me you do not want me. Death has made you irrational, brother.” From Jesse’s brief glimpse, they were standing behind the lab, a data filing site where they crunched numbers ominously close to the cliff’s edge. There were no cameras but one, which Jesse noticed was drooping sadly. Most Blackwatch and some Overwatch had over-rides, and he wasn’t surprised that Genji, who had worked both, had at least one.

“And solitude has made you-.” Here Genji said something in japanese that Jesse faintly recognized as not being polite, and what Genji had used before to describe some of his own more hare-brained schemes. He assumed it meant something along the lines of ‘crazy’. A brief moment of silence, where Jesse tucked himself away into the corner of the doorway up above where Hanzo and Genji were facing each other, bristling like dogs who’d spotted the mailman. “This is a para-military organization- You cannot just come and go as you please!”

The room above hadn’t been in use since Overwatch had returned from retirement, and abandoned equipment and boxes full of old dusty filing-drives moldered in forgotten solitude. There were many places the revival hadn’t gotten to yet, and Jesse had stumbled across many of them in his ramblings. No doubt Genji had come across even more, if the kanji looking symbol spray-painted on the wall in poisonous green was anything to go by.

“You think anyone can tell me where I may and may not go?” Snorted Hanzo derisively, drawing an actual real rumble of anger from Genji, that had Jesse raising an eyebrow to the dusty wall and shadows tilting across the small supply room far over their heads. “You have been tamed brother, _cowed._ Surely domesticity has not castrated you so much that you let-”

“Oh? _Oh?_ You talk to me about domesticity?” Genji sounded triumphant, exultant. “You don’t realize why I called you out here?” A moment of deadly silence while Jesse fiddled with his lighter, thumbing smooth metal of it with one hand, and feeling the skull and crossbones engraving on the other side through the thick leather of his glove. “You need to leave him alone.” The cyborg's voice turned dark at the last comment, dangerous.

“Who?” Even Jesse wasn’t convinced by the false query, the faint hint of a pause ruining any sincerity Hanzo might have had. Genji scoffed.

“Jesse McCree.” Jesse stopped his fiddling, silent and still, interest piqued and goosebumps prickling along the skin of his arm and neck. “He’s none of your concern. I don’t-” A frustrated whirr of servos, the familiar almost imperceptible sound of Genji’s vent’s discharging an amount of steam. “Why? Why concern yourself with him? He’s just an agent-”

“Why do _you_ concern yourself with him brother?” Hanzo snapped, growling. “Why do _you_ cover him with your smell? When you enter a room, he looks to you. When he appears on base, you trail him like some dog after the smell of a _cat._ Am I not also allowed to be intrigued?”

For a long few moments, there was silence.

Finally, Jesse couldn’t handle it anymore, and shoved his lighter deep in his pocket so that his hands were free. Then he carefully crept to the catwalk, letting the afternoon sunlight warm the top of his hat as he peered down at the two brothers.

Hanzo had gotten close, until the two were almost nose to nose- Genji’s vents dangerously leaking steam like a fun-house smoke machine, and Hanzo tilted aggressively forward, almost on his toes.

Genji moved forward, crowding Hanzo backward, stiff legged and hissing steam and venom. “ _No._ You are _not._ He’s a member of Overwatch, _not_ some shiny bauble to be hoarded-”

“That’s odd. You seem to have been doing plenty of hoarding yourself- Or did I misjudge your little field trips and slumber parties?”

 

A sudden frigid silence, unbroken by birds or insects. They’d all been scared silent. “He’s _mine._ ”

 

Hanzo’s nostrils flared, shoulders stiffening, and for a moment Jesse thought he might have to call someone at the hint of teeth, the flash of silver. But after a long tense moment Hanzo finally turned, indifferent, like a bothered tom cat licking it’s chest to show it wasn’t bothered in the least. His head tilted curiously, the fall of his hair brushing his shoulder as Hanzo seemed suddenly invested in the sinking of the sun on the horizon.

“If you insist. He does seem rather uncared for.”

Genji jerked back, affronted. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Hanzo sneered, barely deeming to look at Genji behind him, the dangerous edges of him glittering like blades. “He doesn’t eat, he doesn’t sleep, and when he goes into battle there is barely a soul there at his back. When I thought he was an enemy I thought it advantageous.” He pauses pointedly. “Now I am not so sure.”

“It is what we do. There are some that are at the heart of the fight, and some that guard their backs. Me and Jesse, and others of our team, are needed elsewhere. You’ve done this work yourself.”

Despite his defense- at _what,_ Jesse didn’t even know, not holding his hand on missions?- Genji stalked back and forth in an angry, distracted line, the long grass that hadn’t been mowed in probably months dusting up in golden motes of pollen and moths in the afternoon light. He finally spit an angry noise and turned back, pointing an angry finger at the indifferent Hanzo, who looked unbothered and vaguely dismissive. “You have a view not many have, but it is still not the whole picture. I do what I _can_.”

There was a sly, considering pause from Hanzo. Jesse wasn’t sure what Genji saw in Hanzo’s face, but the resulting rip-cord snarl from the cyborg is startling enough that he’s surprised, jerking and almost stumbling back into a storage pod behind him.

He got back to the edge in time to see the two dragons erupt into motion, Hanzo going backwards halfway changed into scales and claws and fur, and Genji completely silver and furious. The grass exploded outwards at the force of them colliding, sending torn earth and shredded grass pluming into the air beneath their claws.

_’Ah._ He started moving quickly, darting for the stairs and reaching to his belt as he went, heart thumping and sweat suddenly slicking the inside of his gloves. _Shit.’_ Jesse knew Morrison might be busy reviewing training evaluations, but even he’d notice if the Shimada brothers killed themselves in a petty squabble while McCree simply looked on and sulked about cigars.

He came out through the office downstairs, skipping two steps at a time. He caught his hip on the corner of a computer desk as he went, and it threw him slightly off balance when he caught himself on the door leading out into the clean summer air, a hand to either side of the door jam.

He was slightly pleased to see Genji had the advantage this time, jaws locked around a bit of neck but mostly ruff, talons clawing at Hanzo’s underbelly as the blue dragon yowled in indignant fury, twisting uselessly to try to fling Genji off. They were dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, and Jesse gave a shout of alarm, some semblance of “ _Hey! What the fuck?_ ” 

The two dragons took no notice, squalling like a junkyard car crusher- Until the flashbang grenade that Jesse threw hit the ground, a _pffff_ sending them sprawling apart with angry tea-kettle hisses, teeth bared and turning the blood in McCree’s veins to ice.

But he’d broken up his share of dogfights, and took a few hints. “ _What_ in good god’s _fucking_ name is going on here?” He drew himself up mean as he could, scowling and thumbing the remaining flash bang grenades at his belt. He gave the sullenly rumbling Hanzo a foreboding look, and the disapproval drew an unhappy slink from Genji, who acted like a puppy caught with the cat up a tree. “Athena tells me you two are having a nice stroll on the cliffside, but when I come up here ya’ll are squabbling like dogs over a bone. Knock it off!”

“Nothing that concerns you.” Hanzo said through grit teeth, as he let his scales melt away, and crouched in the sweet smelling grass and torn dirt, blinking spots from his eyes and grimacing with teeth sharper than normal.

“Apologies Jesse.” Genji remained as he was, and to Jesse’s surprise, he felt a horned head tentatively come to press itself against his gloved hand, a rumbling vibrating against the pads of his fingers through the delicately silver antlers. “It is… My own fault.”

“It is completely natural.” Hanzo sniffed haughtily, glaring at where Genji pressed against Jesse’s side. “Dragons are not meant to exist in such close quarters. A flare of tempers and some friendly… ‘ _Squabbling_ , is the least of the costs. Or do you forget how I was forced to keep you in hand when we were younger?”

Genji bristled, lips drawing back from his teeth once again. “ _Keep me in hand? Is that what you call-_ ”

“ _Hey!_ ”

Jesse had a death wish. He always has, and he always will. It’s why he antagonized Reyes back when; it’s why he went into fights against giant robots and space gorillas with nothing but a six shooter; it’s why he tracked mud through Satya’s yoga practice studio, and skedaddled before anyone could catch him at the scene of the crime.

It’s why he thrust his robotic hand through the silken fur of Genji’s mane, the mossy green of it parting like a cloud, and gripped him firmly by the ruff as the dragon as big as a small horse threw itself at Hanzo with a furious growl. He caught the full weight with his hip and spun Genji, heaving him off to the left of Hanzo to thud against the wall of the lab. He got to his feet almost immediately, hissing angrily and Hanzo hissed back with full sharp teeth in a human mouth. “What the _hell_ did I just say? Keep it together god damn it.”

It was startling when Genji turned on him, eyes flaring that gas-lit emerald and snarled, like a dog who your hand had gotten too close to,

-and Jesse snarled back, baring blunt human teeth and squaring his shoulders, hand dropping to his belt. It wasn’t necessarily on his gun, but he knew the motion was as ingrained into Genji as it was to himself, the familiar draw of his gun and the quick danger that followed. Faster than Morrison, faster than Reyes, faster than any of the useless fucks in Deadlock- And definitely faster than Genji, who’s deer-like ears laid back, suddenly shying away and pressing down close to the ground, rumbling fitfully.

This was echoed by Hanzo when Jesse turned to him, heart thumping in a mix of anger and fear, glaring, and the man turned his head with a dismissive sucking of his teeth- But the way he didn’t get up from the ground, and the way he carefully bent his chin and neck told Jesse all he needed to.

“I don’t care what this whole thing is about,” He lied carefully, pulling out his lighter after a taut moment of making sure Genji and Hanzo remained separated. “But it’s finished right now. _You,_ are walking a thin line here compadre. Ain’t Morrison the only one on base who’s mighty curious about where you get off to.” He said to Hanzo, who looked from under dark lashes with a stubbornly clenched jaw, remaining silent. “And _you_ know better.” He told the sulking dragon to his right, drawing his lighter instead of drawing anything more dangerous.

Genji seemed shamed again, and rumbled where he crouched. Jesse felt a stab of guilt, hid largely by the way he lit his cigar, and gave it a slow confident pull, channeling Reyes and his ridiculous alpha dog bullshit. At the familiar, devoted way the dragon looked up at him, sniffing in a largely doggish way, he slowly began to suss out what the whole calamity had been about.

It was an uncomfortable idea, one he slowly tucked away and hid under careful hand movements, the solemn way he studied the brothers, and the gunners way he slowed the nervous hammering of his heart.

Even the way Hanzo carefully kept his chin tilted down, shoulders drawn up and an inaudible grumbling shaking the metal in Jesse’s arm enough to barely feel, told him plenty. The man got up and Jesse let him, the strange crackling, popping sound of meat and bone next to him indicating that Genji was getting up as well, sleek metal whirring and vents hissing into place.

“I will be speaking to Morrison myself. I had… Loose ends to take care of.” Hanzo told the ground, seeming uncertain of whether to get closer or simply keep his distance. Jesse didn’t move, simply scowled, and gave the same treatment to Genji when the cyborg ventured closer. “I expect to be staying for the foreseeable future. I will make an effort to- _Avoid,_ instances like this in the future.”

Genji made a scoffing sound, and Hanzo glared. But he held it in with a visible effort, slowly breathing out, and left, giving Jesse one last long inscrutable glance as he went.

Jesse didn’t say anything, and eventually Genji left as well, a quiet misery slumping his shoulders and silencing his footsteps, until finally, Jesse was alone.

He let his hands shake, clenching them and unclenching them and breathing out the hot cloud of smoke that had burned his lungs, the sun painting the restlessly tossing ocean far down below a bloody red as he gazed out over it. He wasn’t sure what to do, but he knew one thing-

 

There couldn’t be any more of this violence. Not while Genji needed a brother, and Hanzo needed redemption.

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a fill for multiple requests for dragon!hanzo on the kinkmeme, and somehow turned into this.
> 
> Genji and Hanzo both playing jealous keep away with McCree, who just wants everyone to get a long and do their goddamn job.
> 
> (And also maybe kiss them both on the mouth)
> 
> Very minimal editing, if you notice something wrong don't be scared to say something! It's the only way it'll ever be corrected lol. All language comes from my own haphazard florida spanish and popular anime phrase googling. (Which I trust over google translate.)
> 
> EDIT: I tried changing from McCree to Jesse, because I thought it seemed a little weird for him to think of himself by his last name. If anyone has any thoughts about it, or opinions, give me some feedback on which you prefer. IM LOST HALF THE TIME


End file.
